“I get that a lot. I’m too thin; I’m too weak… but I like surprising people.” He grinned at the one-armed man, who shook his head.

“Novice.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, sore, and the space next to him was empty. He groaned and rolled over, wincing at the pain.

“You’re awake.”

He cracked an eye to look at his granddad. “Yeah, and I’m really sore.”

The old man chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Malik took Altair back to the bureau using a sheet.”

“Good. He’ll be safer there.”

“We’ve been fending off admirers all day.”

“It’s nighttime?”

“No, morning. You slept all night. Your fight lasted quite a bit of the day.”

He yawned, stretching. When the thread holding his leg together was tugged, he winced.

“The doctor recommended you stay in bed until you heal. Malik said he was going to have problems keeping Altair stationary.”

Desmond chuckled. “It’ll be hard, but I’ve gotten good at following orders.”

True to his word, Desmond managed to stay in bed for the following week. It helped he had people from far and wide bringing him gifts and adoration for “killing” Altair. There were all kinds of gift: gold, food, and expensive spices that he gave to his Granddad and his daughter, and there were small drawings and toys that kids would bring him. He accepted it all graciously, saving each picture, note, or toy, until there was a small pile by his bed. He would pass the hours stuck on bed rest looking at them. His gun and iPhone lay forgotten in his backpack, which was stuffed under his helmet.

By the end of the week, he was up and helping around the house. He made meals for the family and learned to wash the laundry. The daughter’s only child, who was old enough to have married and moved out, came and visited, and not so subtly suggested that she had a friend who was single. Desmond laughed and said that while he wanted to marry, he wasn’t ready for kids yet.

He found himself growing lighter and lighter. By the end of the second week confined to the house, he had a permanent place in his granddad’s household. By the end of the third week, he felt as if he had been there all his life. He had stepped out onto the streets for the first time in three weeks, and breathed deep of the summer air. It was hot outside, and the uniform he wore did little to help, but he didn’t care. The sun felt good on his skin, and the fresh air filled his lungs.

“Desmond.”

He turned to see Malik walking toward him. He smiled, feeling so much lighter than before.

“Yeah, Malik?”

“Come with me.”

Desmond fell in step beside him, greeting the people on the street and chatting eagerly. When they entered the bureau, he led him back to his room. Altair was sitting up, watching him, with his shoulder still bandaged tightly.

“Malik has told me about you.”

Desmond tilted his head, but sat at the end of the bed when the Grand Master motioned for it.

“An assassin, yeah, in terms of loyalty, but I don’t know where you’re getting this future stuff.”

“Idiot, how can you not remember your own past?” Malik hissed. “And yet, still remember about the assassins and the Templars?”

“What? No. I’ve always lived here. Granddad will attest to that if you ask.”

“Desmond,” Altair began, then fell silent, watching the man.

Desmond stared at Altair, not sure what to think. Finally, Malik growled.

“I told you the Apple was erasing his memories. Why did you not believe me, novice?”

“I didn’t think it was possible. I have studied the Apple for several years now.”

He watched their banter, getting more and more hopelessly lost with every passing sentence. In all honesty, he didn’t know what the Apple was, but he did know he could be a good spy for the assassins, and he was happy here. He didn’t understand what they meant when they said he was from the future.